


What's Chasing You?

by MarcyBel



Category: Midnight Cowboy (1969)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Homophobic Language, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcyBel/pseuds/MarcyBel
Summary: Rico has to go through a heat with a cowboy at his side, who may not be a real cowboy, but one hell of a stud.Edit: more gay stuff added, and probably another chapter of this coming soon, I'm inspired





	1. Y'all Get Along Now

So he didn't have the damn suppressants. Ran flat out. They were expensive these days, and it was getting harder to con someone out of their cash to get 'em. Normally, that would be okay, just fine, holed up in the condemned apartment with a few blankets, maybe. But now Rico had that cowboy stalking about the place (Alpha pheromones, coming right off him and he didn't even know it, kid reeked) to worry about, and a heat in the state he'd found himself in wasn't exactly ideal either. In fact, he thought uneasily, it could be worse than unideal. It could fuck him up, worse than last time. He clenched cold hands together, trying to keep his breathing soft and easy so he wouldn't cough. 

Joe had gone out shopping, (well, more like lifting) for groceries. He'd asked if Rico needed anything, (like he could get it, Mister Texas Moneybucks, confident and smooth as hell, like he'd just ask, and everyone would run clamoring to give, easy as that) and Rico had said maybe some of that codeine stuff, to keep him uh, keeping on. So here he was in the apartment, no suppressants- dumb, dumb, how dumb could you get- no nothing, not even anything to drink. He grunted, running his hands through greasy black locks. Jesus, he had to start thinking clearly. This could mean real trouble. It could get bad. Real bad.

He entertained the brief fantasy of running out of the apartment (limping) and never coming back. Where would he go? Who knows. Florida. But the image of a Joe Buck climbing the creaky stairs to the apartment two steps at a time swam up in his mind. There he was, ready to see his pal with groceries and swill in hand, and he was standing in the apartment... And seeing no sign of Rico. Dropping the groceries straight on the floor, wandering around the empty place. That confused puppy dog face. The cowboy hollering his name, and then waiting and waiting for his return. 

No, no way he could split on Joe without saying why, without talking. It wouldn't be right. 

He felt the creep of a cold sweat prickle his skin and shivered, sitting himself by the rickety kitchen table with a tired thump. Was this just normal fever stuff, or something else? Lately he'd been feeling feverish all the time, so it was hard to tell the difference. 

He shouted just to hear his own voice and then listened to the silent, unmoved response in the air. Dust notes flitted around the apartment, the light from the small window he was perched under illuminating them in an almost pretty way. Rico scratched at the side of his face, watching and thinking and thinking. Yeah, yeah, it was the lousy heat. You could tell when it came on, even in the cold you felt hot all over, and like you'd do just about anything for a good lay. Not that he'd ever had one of those, per say, but it was biology. Couldn't have a say in it. If he could have, he would've had some choice words with Mother Nature, that was for sure. Even more so for giving him sickly lungs and a bum leg. 

He felt a sudden jealousy for the people in the world like Joe Buck, living clueless, free from the world of pill packets and those endless hellish hours under the grips of some impulse you couldn't shake. They lived tall and happy, no fear of the things that may happen to them. It was a world Rico could never imagine, but he could feel jealous of it all the same. 

Footsteps coming up the stairs. Rico leapt up, as fast as he could feasibly stand these days, and felt a twinge of pain in his leg, almost falling flat on his face. He dashed to the bathroom when he heard the door handle turning, cursing and knocking aside chairs. Joe entered the apartment and he coughed a few times. The guy would just think he was sick or something, and leave him alone. Of course, to ride this thing out enough so he could at least get to grips with it, get a handle on the situation, he'd have to spend a long time in the bathroom, a worrying amount of time, (Joe might think he'd died in there) but what could you do?

Joe paused as his boots hit the floor, hearing that awful rattling cough from the bathroom, so familiar but still kinda scary, like Rico should be in a hospital bed, not stalking around this freezing place and catching his death. He heard a few sniffles, and rapped his knuckles on the door. 

"Gotcha stuff, man!" He shouted, face up close to the door so Rico could hear him properly. Joe went and piled the few things he'd managed to pilfer on the dining table.

Music filtered into the building from Joe's radio, now switched on, this one new, perhaps without the same sentimental value as the old one, but good as. Rico had stolen it for him, and whilst he didn't think it was right, he was grateful for it. Silence wasn't ever as nice to listen to as most people would think. Music and chatter, he needed it like a fish needed water these days. Joe lay spread out on his bed, hands behind his head. He hummed. The music was catchy, and he knew it was only a matter of time before that Florida Orange Juice ad came on too, the one that was just as fine to catch as the first time he'd listened to it. Florida orange juice, yeah. So it goes. Whenever the cheery tune came on he was reminded of the cold, but also Rico and him dancing, warming up together. Memories were funny like that.

"Hey, Ratso? I mean- Rico? I was thinking. There's a movie tonight, downtown-"

"Yeah?" Rico shouted too quickly, making a strange sort of huffing sound in the bathroom. 

Joe hesitated in saying the next bit, feeling like maybe plowing through what he was originally going to say meant missing out on something subtle going on, something he couldn't exactly put his finger on. He'd listened to three songs with those chatty breaks in between now, and Rico still hadn't come out the bathroom.

"You okay in there?" He asked finally. The movie could wait. "You been in there a long time is all." He sat up straighter on the bed now, listening. "You sick? If you're sick, we don't have to go, it's just- well, it might be something. Something to do." 

Rico rubbed his temples, deliberating, now sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom, head leant on the door. 

"Go to the movie if you want. Tell me the plot when ya get back." He mumbled. Then chuckled, because Joe Buck explaining the plot of a movie was about just as entertaining as the movie itself sometimes. Joe had once tried to explain to Rico the plot of some science fiction movie that had come out, something about space, and it had taken him almost all the brain power he had to do it in the space of that long fifteen minutes. Rico hadn't been paying much attention at the time, instead watching Joe and his animated expressions, they were much more interesting than men in space, the way his hands moved- his shook as he mustered the energy to try and talk to Joe. Joe would think something was up if he didn't. He had been quiet for too long. They were pretty close, now. The two of them. Joe could read him like a book probably, not that he was smart enough to read books.  
"I'll stay here." His voice sounded faint and croaky, muffled through the door. "I'm yeah, like you said. Sick." 

"Well, what's wrong?" Joe got up to stand at the bathroom door, concerned. Rico had sounded rough, judging from their conversation, sounding like he was covering up the worst of whatever was bugging him so as not to worry Joe. Which made Joe even more worried than the days when Rico was whining and complaining every hour about his leg and coughing all over him, because he was at least being himself. It struck him that maybe he was getting worse. Getting sicker and sicker, meanwhile he was going around talking about some movie. He cursed himself internally. No response from Rico yet. He hammered a little on the door, anxiety creeping up on him suddenly.  
"What is it?"

"Ah shit, it's nothing, it's just-" 

"-It's gotta be something, Rico, or else you wouldn't be in there, acting like its nothing!"

"I said its nothing! Nothing! Goddamn, will ya leave me alone?" Rico yelled. The door was yanked open, and a second later he was looking at Joe. Big dumb cowboy had knocked the lock off the door one day by accident, and so now it was as simple as swinging the thing wide open. And seeing him, all slick with heat and looking like hell. 

"Hey! Waddaya think you're doing? A guys gotta have his privacy you know!" Rico protested, struggling to stand properly so he could look Joe in the eye now that the jig was up. Trying not to breathe in Joe's specific scent now that they were so close, the one that said without words all that fag stuff he'd started thinking about recently. In retrospect, he thought- before Joe had burst in in an attempt to take the hinges off the door-he should've explained to Joe he didn't want to be wheezing and hacking in a cold movie theatre. That he'd rather be at home, where it might've been cold but at least he had blankets, an appropriate excuse, instead of pretending it was all peaches and cream. That would've gotten Joe out quicker, made him worry less. Maybe with some doubts, but at least Joe would be away. 

"You look terrible, Ratso." Joe said with some finality. He was going to say something else, explain why he'd all but kicked the door down sheepishly, but those dark half moons underneath Rico's eyes distracted him. The unhealthy pallor and the sweat, which seemed to be soaking him damp. Joe, seeing him for the first time since he'd got back, getting a good look at Rico properly, not from his periphery or from across a room, but close, felt a knot in his stomach. His face softened. 

"Gee, thanks." Rico responded with a withering look. He wished Joe would leave already, go to see that movie, let him be for a while. He was tense enough without the guy here, standing so close. 

"No, I mean..." Joe reached out to place a hand on Rico's shoulder, unable to express what he meant, trying to show his sympathy instead. Rico flinched and backed up like a startled animal. 

"Don't touch me." Rico barked suddenly, wild eyes darting everywhere but Joe's gaze. He swallowed. That sounded too harsh. He lowered his voice, trying to get Joe to understand. 

"Just don't, okay? Not now. I can't." Joe saw there was a touch of panic in his face, as if he was expecting Joe to hurt him. 

"Huh?" 

Joe had to know what Rico was. Now it was going to be a case of messing with him, playing with him like he didn't know that Rico wasn't a Beta, the Beta in the bar that complimented him on his shirt. Rico had told him so originally, lied, part out of shame, part out of wanting Joe to like him. A crippled omega hanging around with a big guy like him, hanging around him like he'd imprinted on him. It was too much. The start of a bad joke. He tottered, struggling to keep his balance. 

Joe frowned. It scared him, seeing Rico act like he was a stranger to him. 

"Rico, now just- what's going on?" He instinctively tried to put his hand on Rico again to steady him without thinking, only to watch Rico yelp, get more het up. 

"Stop!" The word sounded almost like a wail, Rico's nasal voice the last cry of a bullied kid before a gang closed in on him with grabbing hands and sneering faces. Hearing his own fear reflected in his tone, a certain kind of indignant anger rose up in Rico. He felt his heat surge up, practically crying out for something, anything, and buried it down deep when Joe tried to touch him again. He wasn't going to let it get the better of him. Wasn't going to let Joe get the better of him. His arms flew up in irritation. What right did that cowboy have to try to make fun of him like that? Joe knew well enough Rico couldn't land someone to help him through his heat, knew he was alone in the world, couldn't shack up anybody, had to be living here. And now he was standing there in front of him, as if he was making sure he couldn't leave. Cornering him. Secretly laughing at him. 

There were times when in some dark alleyway an alpha had done that to him before, tried to pull some fag move on him. The worst part was, if they'd really wanted to, they would've done it, and in his position, he couldn't have done anything about it. If they really wanted to, they could just... Take.

"You know now, dontcha?" He said finally, touchily, "So no need to rub it in." His voice sounded more even, less afraid. He pushed past Joe, (Or at least liked to think he did, Joe moved aside) who was still standing there like a wall, wanting to put as much distance between them. He understood what a spectacle he most likely seemed to the cowboy. Half expected to turn around and see Joe, a smug smile on his face, one eyebrow raised. He clenched his fists with his back to him. 

"Know what, Ratso?" Joe whispered, wondering what kind of conspiracy Rico was trying to explain. His mind attempted to contextualize Rico's strange behavior, but came up with nothing. Where was this coming from? Rico hadn't been in that much of a mood when he'd left, so what was wrong now? 

Rico turned on him, eyes squinting at Joe, like he couldn't figure out what game Joe was unwillingly playing. 

"C'mon, quit it. Just quit it already!" 

"Quit WHAT?" Joe bellowed, confused and hurt at Rico's mystery anger.

Boy did his Texan accent come in strong when Joe got mad, Rico found himself thinking. Quit hwhat. Qwhit what! Then it hit him. Why the hell was Joe mad? If anything, it should be him mad, hurting and in heat, having some alpha screw with him like that. Leading him on, making him think...

"Quit fuckin'-" All it took was a look for Rico to figure it out, in the end. That earnest face. Puppy dog through and through. 

"You don't know?" Cowboy was dumber than he thought. He whirled on his heels, exhausted suddenly, looking for a seat to sit down on, or else he was gonna pass out, or pop his clogs, die right there. 

"I'm saying all this, being like this, on account of how.. I mean..." He gestured exasperatedly. "I couldn't get the goddamn suppressants, okay?" He muttered, avoiding Joe's gaze under the guise of finding a place to sit.

Joe stepped out from the doorway of the bathroom, freezing up at the words. He tried to think of something to say. His mouth was dry. He wanted to say how sorry he felt suddenly, how sorry he was about the sorry mess they were in, the one he hadn't known about, but that could have a chance of making Rico madder. Pointing the truth out to Rico was always harder than it should've been, even if Rico considered himself the realist in their relationship. The guy was touchy about things, aware of his position acutely. If he said he should've known Rico needed surp resents, Rico would take it the wrong way. 

Joe rubbed his face, sighing. All this bullshit. If he could've gotten more medicine... Maybe called a doctor when Rico really needed one... If Rico had just told him! Except he knew the last part was out of the question of a guy like Rico. How didn't he figure it out in the first place? Didn't omegas have those pheromones, or something? Maybe cause Rico was so sick all the time, he didn't smell like anything, because he was close enough to not having heats all together anymore, at a point where the body was shutting up shop. His heart beat faster. All this time together and he should've known. Should've known...

"Oh, Ratso." Joe exhaled raggedly, voice breaking.

"Rico." Rico corrected automatically, eyes on Joe, wondering what he was going to do.

"Rico." Joe said, evenly.

There was silence.

"You ought to be careful. A heat could be. Uh, dangerous in your condition and all." Joe pointed out bluntly, saying something that had been in the back of Rico's mind ever since he'd remembered the forgotten suppressants that morning. It was enough to make Rico hate Joe, fiercely, for stating the obvious like that as if he didn't know, as if he was stupid or something. Joe Buck, the alpha authority, telling him about his own life, even when he hadn't lived a day in it. That was rich.

"What are you, a doctor, now? You go to medical school to figure that one out?" Rico's words were cutting. Joe didn't take it personally, couldn't have taken it personally even if he'd tried. It seemed like he was, all he'd maybe ever be, was worried for Rico.

Rico turned away when Joe didn't say anything, reaching for his coat. 

"I don't need your goddamn pity." Going any place right now was better than being with Joe. He moved to stand, and Joe knew he was going to lose him if he didn't think fast.

"Rico-" He planted a hand on the man's shoulder, stopping him still this time in his seat. "Now hold it. Rico, you'd be crazy to run out like that." Joe took in a deep breath. 

"So what? It's my life!" Rico, petulant. It would be funny if the circumstances were different. He didn't know what else to say. My life, my choice, not yours and not anyone else's.

"So. So! Goddamn boy, you're making this hard." Joe tried to think of how to put what he was going to say next well, so he wouldn't come across badly. Rico glanced up, impatient underneath Joe's restraining hand, waiting for what Joe had to say, something that would be the difference between him leaving or staying. If he was honest, he didn't want to leave the apartment and take his risks with strangers out there in the cold, not really. But he hadn't known what Joe was going to be like, and he'd been mad, and- he leant in to Joe's touch subconsciously, eyes wide. 

"All I'm saying is, it wouldn't be faggot stuff if I, uh, helped you out with it, the heat, would it, Rico?" Joe saw Rico's eyes glint, and he smiled, irritation melting away, a hint of self deprecation appearing on his face. 

"I mean, at least ya know me."

Rico's heart was going a mile a minute, and he became aware that his mouth was open. He shut it promptly. Did he mean it? It felt weird, Joe talking about it in that naive way of his. 

He guessed it would be faggot stuff, but he didn't really have many other alternatives. 

"I don't know. Depends." He decided on. 


	2. What Are You Waiting For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rico and Joe get it on in a condemned building.

It was Joe's prerogative to treat him gentle, like some breakable object, when he handles Rico. Even with a sizable tent in his pants he was still a southern gentleman to his core, it seemed. 

Joe moves like a newborn calf around Rico, all stumbles and clumsy movements, never sure where to put his hands. That is, until Rico can't take it anymore and he pounces on him, and everything blurs into one. Joe notes that all he can find himself hearing from Rico's end is: 

"Hurry, hurry-" It's steady but urgent, pleading and all kinds of panicky. Even when Rico's fumbling with the buttons on Joe's shirt, it's like he's watching himself from far away, a spectator. The heat has flushed Rico's face red, a livelier shade. 

Joe acts accordingly, letting Rico scrabble at him, undoing Rico's coat and letting it fall to floor. He noted with some alarm that Rico was wearing a surprising amount of layers below the coat, someone who had been cold, cold, before the heat crept up on him like a summer heatwave. No wonder he was burning up. 

He tries to imagine it from Rico's perspective, pick up the pace a little for his sake. Rico's got to the incoherent stage where he's muttering to himself, not making any sense. Yet even in the, well, heat of the moment, all he can think about is a pretty little omega girl in a sundress, standing outside the church steps in Texas and waving at him. Blowing kisses. Then he laughs aloud. It would be too funny, Rico in some long legged girl's place, instead of the music of a young girl's laugh, sweeping her hair aside when she tilts her head back, it's Ratso, sarcastic and upset, making some snappy comment and biting his thumb from the church steps. 

"C'mon! I'm dying here!" Rico says, raspy and overwhelmed, breaking him out of his reverie. For a moment, it really looks like he is, and that gets Joe back into action. He pushes Rico onto the bed to get things moving, (softly, softly) and takes his belt off. He wonders about his socks and shoes while he's doing it, about whether he should take them off too, stuff he wouldn't give a second thought about if he was with a girl. He'd just do whatever. Loving was what he was made to do, after all, it came natural, but Rico was something else. Rico might laugh at him if he didn't get this right, or he might be unimpressed, and that would be the living end. Rico was something else.

"You dont gotta treat me like another one of those lonely old ladies you fuck for money, you know." Rico mutters as he feels Joe on top of him. Joe's still tense, hovering, probably worried he's gonna hurt him.

"Yeah, I suppose I don't, cause for one thing, I ain't getting money for this." Joe retorts, laughing (after all, there ain't no harm in being careful) breathlessly, face close to Rico's ear like he's sharing a secret. He notices Rico's hair is sticking up with sweat, some strands flopping down on his forehead but most of it raised like the hackles of an alley cat, and it's endearing. Alley cat Rico, all but purring for him.

Rico rolls his eyes at the comment but soon enough they're trailing down Joe's bare chest, sharp in the light, and Joe feels good, thinking about Rico looking at him, thinking about him like that. For the first time he draws a similarity between Rico and the girls he's gone to bed with. When they look at him like that, Joe feels on top of the world. They kiss, and it's the first time they're in sync, both on the same wavelength, moving in time, Rico's mouth needy and more than a little self conscious. Joe guides him patiently. Rico is so warm underneath him, and maybe there's omega life still left in him, coaxing him in a way that even Rico himself can't say about, because before he knows it, Joe finds himself in an impressive rut. 

"God-" Rico's head is pressed back into the a pillow, back arching. His eyes are shut tight, but he opens one eye when Joe pulls away. Rico hears the clink of a belt buckle hitting the floor before he even thinks to look, and there it is. 

"You want it?" Joe asks, sultry, pausing to take in the image of Rico on the bed like that, lying like a stunned crow, (not the prettiest but definitely the most interesting) and there's that cowboy bravado coming out, making Rico splutter. 

"Yes! Yes! Jeez, what the hell would we be doing if I said no, Joe?" Rico sounds like he's talking out of the corner of his mouth. He's a cross between aroused and irritated, not sure which is which or how he feels about it, and Joe just smiles, languid and easy.

"Okay, then." Joe says simply, kind of goofy, and Rico both curses and thanks the heavens that he had the misfortune of spending his heat with the big idiot.

Once they get going, its desperate and fast. Rico feels Joe's hot hand on him, helping him out, doing most of the work whilst he grips the sheets and stifles moans. It's easy, being like that, easier than he'd expected, (he'd entertained the idea that maybe Joe would be the type of alpha who'd show a rut by throwing him around the apartment, acting mean about it, a real show of who's boss, but had never entertained the idea for long, cause it was Joe he was talking about here) and as far as first times go, it's nice, too. 

A thought about Joe and him, potentially doing this type of thing almost every day when they get to Florida, drifts into his head. Of course, only in Florida would they do it nearly every day, because the place they were in right now was too dismal to try it on all the time. Also, he was sick and not always in the mood. He thinks about Joe and him, fixed up in some fancy hotel, the sun coming in through the window and warming them as they get to it on a comfortable bed, a bed that doesn't creak and groan. Maybe the hotel is close to the beach so that when Rico sits up with a cigarette in his mouth on slow and easy nights like this and he can see the ocean from the room. Maybe Joe puts a sun tanned arm over him and pulls him under the covers on nights like that. Maybe. 

He turns way from that inner supposing in the end, cause he realizes that's the heat bond speaking. He'd read about that, and he decided if it ever even came close to happening he would remind himself that he didn't want to become some doting little creep, spending his days simpering like a fag around Joe. Joe wouldn't appreciate it, and he wouldn't be in the state to know any different. This thought makes him upset, alarmed suddenly. There are two Rico's in his mind's eye now, the Rico that stays with Joe and kisses him awkward and gentle, and the Rico that leaps out of Joe's arms after twisting his ear sharply. The second Rico runs out of their condemned building, a born free Beta. He tries to discern which Rico is him, which one he's going to be. 

Then Joe hits some good place inside him and he can't think anymore, sees stars, spilling into Joe's hand. Rico stutters and goes limp in Joe's arms, and Joe finishes the race second, a close runner up.

No one moves much after that, instead they choose to lie next to each other. They talk for a while, about songs and movies and the things they've seen in their lives. Joe asks Rico what he wants to do when they get to Florida, but he doesn't get a response, because Rico's fallen asleep in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe these two are a rare pair


End file.
